


Lust for Life

by astxrwar



Series: The Lovely Collection [2]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, more bruce wayne porn :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 16:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11740698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astxrwar/pseuds/astxrwar
Summary: Patience is a virtue, yes, but it isn't one of Bruce's.





	Lust for Life

**Author's Note:**

> A NSFW prompt fill from my tumblr: astxrwar.tumblr.com  
> featuring: distracting we-shouldnt-be-doing-this sex + against the wall (kind of not really) + rough sex

 

 

It’s at a fundraising event when it happens for the first time.

Bruce gets in half an hour late with that frenzied, half-wild look in his eyes, the one he gets after he’s been out saving the world or fighting crime or _ whatever the fuck  _ he does in his free time and that the adrenaline rush of it all hasn’t quite faded yet.

He stares at you. Rakes a  _ white-hot  _ gaze down over your body-- you can see his eyes lingering over the plunging neckline of your dress, moving down over your hips and your ass and your thighs with a look that borders on hungry. 

“Bruce,” you say, and it’s sort-of-not-really a question, because you know what that look means and you know what it  _ entails--  _ except right now you’re currently standing in a lavishly-decorated ballroom surrounded by multimillionaires and not, like, anywhere  _ remotely  _ resembling a bedroom.

Batman is giving you fucking  _ sex eyes  _ in the middle of what might be the biggest event you’ve ever been to in your life.

There’s-- not really, like, a fucking  _ wikihow  _ article on how to deal with that.

It doesn’t end up mattering.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he mutters with an undercurrent of urgency, flashing an obviously-fake smile at one of the many businessmen in attendance who had given him a strange look. Before you get a chance to respond, he grabs hold of your upper arm hard enough that you’re pretty certain there will be bruises come tomorrow, and pushes you away from the crowd down a cramped hallway beside the bar. You don’t have the opportunity to ask him what he’s doing, or do much of anything besides stumble over your slightly-too-tall heels and struggle to maintain some semblance of balance.

He urges you into a bathroom that looks like it came directly out of a  _ Home Decorating  _ catalogue and closes the door behind you.

He runs a hand through his hair and releases something that almost sounds like a laugh, before tipping his head back and closing his eyes and drawing in a ragged, unsteady breath.

“Bruce,” you say, not really sure how to handle the situation.

There is a moment of stillness that lasts for about one entire second.

“ _ Fuck,”  _ he grits out, eyes snapping open, and then he’s tangling his fingers through your hair and backing you up against the cream-tiled wall and  _ kissing you,  _ his free hand is moving down over your body, squeezing and kneading at your hips and your ass and your breasts through your dress like he needs to touch you  _ everywhere,  _ all at once. It’s enough to cause your brain to short-circuit, fading out with a pop and a fizzle of radio static until all you can really think about is how he’s tipping your head back and how his tongue is pressing into your mouth, how he tastes like the cherry wine that they’re serving at the party, warm and slightly sweet--

Oh,  _ fuck,  _ you think, a little hazily.

The party. It’s actually a fucking  _ important deal,  _ it could open up new directions for Wayne Enterprises and instead of sweet-talking potential business partners you’re making out in the bathroom like  _ teenagers. _

Bruce moves his mouth to your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. You’re  _ really  _ regretting telling him how sensitive you were to this kind of thing, because right now there’s still a part of your brain that’s trying to form, like,  _ coherent thoughts,  _ and the feeling of his mouth pressed to the skin just above your collarbone is distracting in the  _ best way. _

“The party,” you manage to say, pushing uselessly at his chest. “ _ Bruce,  _ come  _ on. _ ”

Bruce groans, the sound heavy with irritation, but he doesn’t make any effort to stop what he’s doing. He pushes your dress up, and your breath hitches at the feeling of his hand creeping down and stroking over the insides of your thighs, callouses dragging deliciously against your already sensitive skin. 

(You’ve never been good at saying no to him.)

“Bruce,” you say again, slightly louder, and the only real response he gives is a grunt at the sound of his name as he presses his nose into the dip in your collarbone, fingers drumming a short staccato rhythm right above the elastic of your underwear. 

“Did you bring makeup?” he mutters, and you nod in response, barely given a moment to process why he’s asking that before he bites your neck, gently,  _ teasingly,  _ sucking a dark bruise there and following up with his tongue to soothe the mark.

“ _ Fuck, _ ” you hiss, arching back against the cold tile and leaning into the hand between your legs and almost,  _ almost  _ forgetting about that godforsaken fucking  _ party.  _ “We  _ can’t-- _ ”

“Don’t care.”

Bruce groans, yanking you up into another bruising kiss before you can even finish the thought and running his tongue through your mouth with a level of frustration that doesn’t really surprise you, especially not when you notice the pressure of his cock against your thigh through his dress pants, hard and hot and  _ wanting-- _

His fingers slip down over your panties, touch turning  _ greedy,  _ rubbing small circles over your clit through the damp fabric and humming in pleasure when you react, inhaling sharply and choking out his name. He’s  _ good  _ at this,  _ fuck,  _ at taking you apart, he’s had plenty of nights to practice and has always loved having the ability to make you  _ squirm  _ in his hands and that hasn’t changed. He moves past the elastic of your underwear and you’re so wet that his fingers are slick against your skin and you can feel him smiling smugly against your neck at the knowledge and  _ fuck-- _

“ _ Bruce, _ ” you sigh, the muscles in your neck going lax-- and then his hands are gone, and you have half the mind to whine at the loss before you realize that his fingers are fumbling for the zipper to your dress. He yanks it down hard enough that you’re worried for a second that the fabric might rip, before deciding that right now you really  _ don’t care,  _ not as you watch him undo his belt and shove his pants down to his knees with an urgency that betrays just how much he  _ wants  _ this. His cock is a hard, thick line against his boxer briefs as he urges you back, lifting you up onto the countertop by the sink, marble solid and cold against your bare skin. 

“Look at you,” Bruce murmurs, hands on either side of your body, caging you in-- “ _ Damn it,  _ sweetheart, couldn’t help myself--”

And then it doesn’t matter what he’s saying, because his cock is pressed against you and he’s pushing in and whatever he’s saying dissolves into a senseless groan that vibrates against your neck as his mouth hovers over your pulse point. 

He stills. His breath ghosts warm over your collarbones and his fingers dig into your hips and looking like he’s struggling to keep himself under control, which, given the circumstances is the last fucking thing you want. Before you really have time to think about what you’re doing, you’re wrapping your legs around him and digging the heels of your stilettos into his back hard enough that he  _ growls,  _ low and frightening in a way that makes your spine tingle with something that feels like static electricity, and then--

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Bruce grits out, and he grabs your hips and thrusts into you  _ hard  _ and the sound of skin hitting skin is loud and vulgar in the tiny bathroom but you don’t care and  _ can’t _ care. Any remaining doubts you had about this are disappearing,  _ dissolving,  _ fuck, all you can think about is how it feels as he rocks into you, again and again and again--

“Bruce,” you gasp  out, nails digging into his shoulders as he fucks you, ruthless and unforgiving. He’s relishing in it, you can tell by the way he’s looking at you that he’s trying to fucking burn the sight into his brain forever, the sounds you’re making and the way you shiver in his arms and the sheer force of it all--   
He groans loud enough that you might be concerned that someone would hear if you still even cared, and when he kisses you again it’s nearly violent, a clash of lips and tongues and teeth as he urges you closer to the edge of the counter and angles your hips up so that he’s somehow even deeper, and every thrust is drawing out a keening, helpless moan from the back of your throat.

“Jesus christ,” he groans against your mouth, hisses as you bite at his bottom lip, retaliating with a growl and driving his hips into yours with a newfound ruthlessness--

“Oh--  _ god,”  _ you gasp out, breaths coming out in little huffs in time with the movement of his body, fast and hard and almost unbearably intense and at this point you’re not doing much other than moaning, digging your nails into his arms, strung-out and borderline overwhelmed. Bruce groans and kisses your neck, follows up with teeth, and then his hand moves down from your hip and his thumb presses against your clit and the pleasure is suddenly blinding and white-hot and  _ fuck fuck Bruce yes just like that I’m gonna-- _

“(Name),” he chokes out, half-desperate, rhythm faltering and breaths catching and he’s not going to last much longer, you realize hazily, not like this. He digs his fingers into your hip hard enough that it makes you hiss and then he falters and slows and gives one, two, three more thrusts before slumping against you with a shaky, breathless sigh.

The silence stretches for a moment, maybe two, before--

“Oh,  _ fuck _ ,” Bruce says, still mostly breathless, “The  _ party _ .”


End file.
